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Reckless Pt. 5 The End by H. A. Kirsch Copyright 2012

---

The orders for the day: stay naked. Shane was absolutely not to put on any clothing, go outside, or do anything that wasn't within ten feet of Kyros.

The tiger spent most of the day transforming Shane's bedroom from a disaster area to a spartan spare bedroom. The dalmatian spent the first hour or so sitting in the hallway, staring at the mess as it slowly dissipated. He began to feel faint again, heart pounding, muzzle sweating. The sensation grew worse and worse, vision going bright and almost solarized.

Shane imagined that Kyros was turning the room into a spare bedroom, because of course Shane wasn't around, because of course the dog was dead. Kyros didn't know Rex. Shane had lost his mind and lost his life and that was it and he was a ghost now or living in hell and doomed to watch the tiger go on about his life with only himself or someone else, the tiger torturing and violating and fighting and fucking on and on and on until old age while Shane stayed and stared silent-

"I hear hungry noise," Kyros said. "Your stomach. Come on. Let's eat," the tiger said, letting his garbage bag fall to the bedroom floor with a whumpf.

Shane came back to himself and realized that his stomach _was_ gnawing on itself. He followed the tiger down to the kitchen and sat down, hunkered over forward onto his arms, tail occasionally twitching between parts of the seat back.

"So do you really know Rex from some kind of fighting thing?"

"He is an ex-MMA fighter. Regional something. I forget now. I wanted to join, and I thought he was very sexual, so maybe if I joined I could fuck him."

Shane perked his ears up as much as they'd go, still flopped. "Are you kidding me?"

Kyros was frying something on the stove. He shrugged. "I was young. I wanted to have sex all the time. I still do, but it was stupid, I didn't think about it then. I think about it now. A lot."

The dalmatian stared on at Kyros' backside. The tiger filled out all of his clothing, and not just with the slight muscle gut at the front. Everything stretched over his muscles, even so far as his jeans suctioning against his rump. The dog's cock firmed up until the tip just bumped the table underneath. "I just can't believe... I ran into him, I mean, I saw him all this time as the train went by, and then, and then,"

"You go to the club to fuck him, and he tells you he is afraid of me so he won't, and then you come home sad. So I fix things by having him come over."

"That's not what happened," Shane said. "I didn't tell him who.. who my master was. He didn't know it was you."

Kyros turned, lurched forward at a near pounce, and smacked Shane on the knuckles with his metal spatula. It was very, but not burning, hot. The dog instantly yelped and jerked his hand back. "Don't ignore what happened, dog. You don't play around like that by yourself. It will hurt you."

You hurt me, Shane said to himself. Then he started to choke as he wondered if he said it aloud. Kyros gave him an unchanging feral stare; probably not. "I'm sorry," he whined.

"You should have said something. You see my things in the bedroom," Kyros grumbled, turning back to the stove. He flipped the steak he was cooking up in the air. "And what I did to the wolf-dog when he came over. We could play all this time, but no, you keep it to yourself." The tiger plated the steak, then tore it into thin shreds with a knife. He tossed it and some tomatoes and onions into a pita, then slathered it with a lewd splash of tzatzki. "Eat."

"I thought I was dreaming until.. about ten minutes ago. I thought either I was just dreaming, or maybe, you know."

"No, I heard you from downstairs when I came in. You were making this sound, this crying howl, and then urrlch, and I know that sound so I went up and grabbed onto the cord and just put my weight on it. Big tiger."

Shane looked at his food. He felt slightly queasy, but not from the discussion. He played back the idea that he'd attempted suicide, and it definitely didn't make him feel particularly off his food. Instead, he just felt so hungry that the idea of eating was offputting. A few bites of the salty, spiced beef and harsh onions turned him around. "I don't think I really want to be dead. I mean. It really... it, playing like that, strangling, suffocating, really turns me on. I think that's why I did it. I didn't get what I wanted when I went out, and I was upset and scared and that made me excited and I just lost my shit-"

"You don't get what you want from me," Kyros said, and rolled up his own steak gyro. "That's why he did this, last night," Kyros said, and motioned to his muzzle. It was raw underneath some sparse fur on the side, trimmed hastily and almost gory.

The dog sighed. "I don't want to make you mad. But." Come on... "Yeah."

Kyros merely grunted, then took a few bites of the wrap. "I do better. Tonight, we do what you want. And you have the dog bed now."

Shane felt happy, but more in a relieved way than in general pleasure. He finished eating in silence, then went back upstairs. His room was seemingly off limits, so he went to the master bedroom instead. Kyros had sequestered the dog's laptop, and he went to go mess around on some time wasting pages.

After a few hours, where Kyros spent a while swearing as he repaired the closet, Shane had a very strange feeling. He reflected on how he felt about supposedly getting his way. About Kyros' change of heart. Of Rex suddenly being in his life. About losing his job. Intellectually, things were a mess. Emotionally, though, they weren't. Shane picked his emotions apart and found that they were just attempts to fit in with what he thought he should do, not actual gut feelings.

He looked up at the metal storage lockers that held such a thorough collection of nefarious, suffocating toys. Knowing their contents, he was merely excited to see them again, not afraid that Kyros had such scary interests with his already mercurial and abusive personality.

The dog felt giddy enough that he rolled around and wrestled with a few of the pillows in the bed, only stopping himself when he realized his panting and growling were probably audible down the hall.

---

"I just want you to tie me up and fuck me. You can do whatever else you want, I guess," Shane said, looking down at Kyros' feet. No shoes, no boots, just furred and striped feet.

"Fine," Kyros said.

"And I want to... wear that outfit. The one I used to dance in."

"Fine," the tiger repeated. He seemed completely nonplussed, tapping at his computer.

Shane got up, ears burning, and went to the closet where most of his leather gear was now stored. He dressed up into the form-hugging black spandex, cock and balls sprouted out the front, air wafting in under his tail at the open back. He shrugged into his leather jacket, then stepped into the flashy black cowboy boots. Last step: gloves, a pair of rubber ones this time, tight latex compressing his finger fur down. He left the leather shorts off, since Kyros was going to stuff him.

He turned to leave the walk-in closet and walked into something. Tiger. Leather tiger. Kyros had his riding suit on sans helmet, and held things in his wrists. Shane yelped and put his hands up; Kyros caught them in sturdy padded cuffs, snugged the buckles tight, and then spun Shane again. He padlocked the dog's wrists behind his back, then picked him up with a grab around the waist and carried him into bed.

Shane almost burst out in tears when he was bound up. It was simple, just wrists and ankles. Kyros, like many of their nights together, said nothing above a grunt. He took the keys for the restraints and put them on the nightstand under the desk lamp, then the tiger turned and opened up the cabinet containing all of his breath play toys.

That did the dog in; he whimpered and tears welled up in his eyes, pouring down his cheeks and leaving wet trails. After the initial outpouring, the burst of terrified emotion gave way to a hard stare. Kyros saw Shane, but gave him only a blank look. The tiger pulled something out of the cabinet, then immediately pulled it over his own head.

Kyros had just hooded himself. It was a black rubber hood with a large portion at the front made of natural translucent latex. The loose portion hung like a bag from the face. As soon as Kyros exhaled, the bag filled up, only to collapse in on his blocky snout.

The tiger approached Shane and climbed into bed, then snatched a bottle of lube off the nightstand. Two pumps into a gloved hand as he slicked himself up, then he hefted Shane's legs up. Kyros paused after exhaling, then kept pushing out as he flattened the bag to his face. When he inhaled again, it suctioned up over his features, air whistling in through the pencil hole at the end of the snout.

Shane lay back, barely pushing along as his legs were lifted and folded and propped up against Kyros' shoulder. The tiger's slickened cockhead pushed right up against his hole and stuffed in with no foreplay at all. The penetration was a scary jolt, firing up the residual soreness in the dog's asshole from the other day.

Kyros lasted only about thirty seconds as he tried to both fuck his way towards orgasm and breathe through that tiny hole. Shane stared at the inflating and collapsing rubber, as it went from staying filled with air to forming a glistening relief of a tiger's gaping, gasping muzzle. The dog was about to climax when Kyros yanked out and stumbled back, hands clutching at the hood and pulling it up for air. After heaving breath in a few times, he removed the hood entirely and sat down in his desk chair. "I won't come yet. I will put on a show for you. Maybe you will mess yourself while you watch."

The dalmatian settled down from his whimpering squirm and stared. Kyros grunted and stood back up, then started picking things out. Shane made up a mental fantasy of what Kyros would take, and focused as hard as he could. When he opened his eyes, he saw what was in his mind, and started to feel panicked inside. His fantasy wasn't coming true; that was impossible. Instead, he had to be in hell. He hadn't survived. This was punishment, somehow. Kyros would turn on him. He would never get to see what was surely coming next. On and on and on, as Kyros picked out the toys for more self-torture.

A full-head gas mask hood, crafted by some insane German out of a paint respirator and scuba-thick latex. An attached anesthesia rebreathing bag, dangling black latex with a cappable safety airhole and a second gas mask air hose connection. A small blue glass bottle. A larger, but still small, silver spray can.

Kyros took the rebreathing assembly off the mask, then pulled the heavy latex on over his head. The tiger shook up the can of ethyl chloride, then sprayed it into the secondary hole at the junction of mask fitting and breathing bag. He took a kept cap and screwed it onto the fitting, then hooked the whole thing back up to his gasmask. He exhaled and groaned, filling the bag with air, then inhaled. The tiger coughed slightly and groaned, then felt up his face, up over his head, riding leathers tracing over everything as he fondled the bag, fittings, mask, leather jacket, leathered lap, and finally over his straining erection.

Shane rolled around in bed, whining, whimpering, struggling at his bonds. He looked around the room, then back at Kyros.

The tiger groaned and huffed, inflating and sucking the bag flat faster and faster, until he fumbled around with the air cap and barely unscrewed it. His head slumped forward and he sat with his cock in his hand, sleep-breathing fresh air as it mixed with the leftover fumes.

The dalmatian looked over to the nightstand, at the keys. He rolled over three times, which put his free fingers just an inch away. He snatched up the keys and rolled back, then squirmed around and whimpered. After the fourth whine, Kyros jerked his head up and unscrewed the breathing bag from his mask, then breathed deep and hard.

"You like this? You like watching? I should have told you before. We could have more fun," the tiger said, face hidden underneath the gas mask, voice muddled up like he was speaking over a walkie-talky underwater.

"I can't cum like this, I can't just cum on myself. I need to cum into a condom," the dog whined, almost believing it. While he had a compulsive fixation to jerk off inside condoms, he wanted to lead Kyros on. Would it work? "Maybe... maybe if you cum, I'll do it too."

"Is not like yawning," Kyros growled, then absently dangled the bag around in front of his face. "I can't see to get you a condom. You will come anyway, dog. I will make you." Instead of getting up to assault Shane, Kyros just played around with his breathing gear. He very slowly got out of the chair and retrieved the nitrous gun he'd used on Rex previously. He inserted a tube from it into the breathing bag's safety hole, then slid it back out. He opened up the blue vial of poppers and held the bottle near the gas mask fitting and inhaled slow and deep. He held his breath as he screwed the bag on, then exhaled and filled up the bag.

Shane stared on, silent, occasionally squirming to make enough of a leather rustle or bed creak to let Kyros know he was there.

Kyros rebreathed for three breaths, then unscrewed the bag and huffed for fresh air, groaning hard and swooning around. His cock sagged and swelled, straining into the air as it rose out of his leather gear. He screwed the bag back on and squeezed the trigger on the nitrous injector, creating a loud splattery hiss that jounced the breathing bag around. It inflated up and then shrank a little, then sucked in as Kyros inhaled.

Shane could feel himself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, buoyed up by the sheer amazement at having his fantasies come true, dragged down because Kyros was the one doing it. There was no longer anything Shane liked that Kyros couldn't touch and wrench and hurt and covet for himself.

Kyros made a lot more noise as he succumbed to the nitrous, groaning and even speaking in Greek with long nasal tones as he breathed hard. After a few long moments, he uncorked an alternate safety peg on the end of the breathing bag and crushed it in his shaking hands, then dropped it in his lap as his head slumped, then rolled back and forth.

Shane had been slowly, silently fiddling the keys between his fingers, until he had the handcuff padlock just shy of penetration. He slid the key in and twisted, then fingered the lock apart. Once his hands were free, he did the same to his ankles, then hopped out of bed.

He grabbed onto Kyros, but the tiger only wheezed and let out a sound almost like a mooing cow. He took one of the tiger's wrists behind the chair, then took the chain that had gone between his own cuffs and padlocked it onto the tiger's wrist. Kyros struggled a little, but then let out another near-orgasmic moo that degenerated into jackal laughter. The tiger reached up for his muzzle, then dropped his hand. Shane grabbed it and did the same, cuffing the tiger's leatherclad arms behind his back.

The tiger jackal-mooed again, lashed against the chair, then huffed out extra-hard and waited for the bag to slowly deflate out the safety hole. Then he inhaled again, keeping up the same pattern to give himself some purer oxygen.

Meanwhile, Shane had an easier time with the ankles. The leg cuffs fit, barely, around Kyros's boots, and easily padlocked to attachment points on the chair.

Then, once the tiger was secured, he unscrewed the breathing bag. "There you go. See? Now you can breathe."

Kyros reacted by groaning and apparently drooling in the mask, as some of it eventually glistened out the exhaust port. Then he coughed and choked and squirmed harder against the bonds, shaking the chair slightly. "Shane, what are you doing?" he finally gasped.

Shane put the cork back in the end of the breathing bag, and played with it between his hands. "I just want to make sure you cum. I know you like this. I know you like it so much, you wouldn't tell me, so I wouldn't know anything about it. You could keep it all to yourself." He held up the threaded end of the breathing bag's hose in one hand, then picked up the ethyl chloride in the other.

"Shane, no," Kyros huffed, then started to snarl and lash his head around as the dog sprayed a good few seconds of fluid into the hose. There was enough that it crackled inside as it boiled at room temperature, sending a little fog out of the end.

The dog clutched onto Kyros's head, then screwed the bag onto the mask. "You'll cum so hard, Master," he whimpered, then fed another cylinder into the nitrous pistol and gave it a squeeze just as Kyros desperately inhaled the chemical fumes. He immediately coughed and hacked, shuddering and straining the breathing bag. Then, he started to moo again, cock straining and dribbling on itself.

Shane held the bag in his hands as it flexed and sucked in on itself. He waited until it was almost full and pulled the cork at the end out, then squeezed it. Sweet, noxious fumes huffed out. He corked it again, and Kyros tried to breathe in. He got only a third of a breath in before the bag slapped in on itself.

Shane dropped the bag and jumped back. Kyros started to buck and flail against the chair, swinging his head around as hard as he could. The bag and pistol managed to stay put, flapping around as the shaking turned from wide strokes to shallow wobbling. Kyros screamed and then started to bark into the mask, the sound slowing down. He coughed and hacked again, then slumped around. He woke up and jerked again, toppling the chair over onto its side with a wham that sent Kyros's head thumping against the carpet.

The tiger's chest heaving and arm pumping, desperate attempts to free him from the chair, did nothing. Then they turned into a strange rhythmic jerking and Kyros stopped breathing normally. Instead, he choked and gagged, then let out a heinous "ullrrh". His howling breathing turned into a wetted squelch.

The convulsion suddenly came to a stop, and Kyros was still. He spontaneously heaved and gasped, then fell silent, then heaved and gasped again.

Then, after several seconds of quivering nothingness, the tiger's cock wet flaccid and streamed urine all over the bedroom carpet. The flow petered out to a dribble, and Kyros did nothing more than lay there.

Shane felt like he was going to cry, but then the emotion broke through: the most intense, purest orgasm he had ever felt. His cock exploded a long, syrupy squirt of cream seed, then fired the rest out as watery jets that splashed onto the carpet just a foot shy of Kyros's body.

The dog fell back onto the bed as his fur-soaking climax stunned him, then sent him into such a haze that he drifted into prostate-tingling dreamland.

---

It was very easy for Shane to avoid the elephant in the room, so to speak. He simply stayed away from upstairs.

When he leaned back on the sofa several days later, he realized that the house was completely silent in between breaths from the air conditioning or the purr of the fridge. Before, even when Kyros had been out of the house and Shane was alone, the dog had felt this presence around him. A sensation like tinnitus, irritating and oppressive but directionless.

That was now gone. Silence was truly silent.

He was in the middle of one such long stretch of silence when the doorbell started to ring. It came in slowly, as if it were far away and slowly moving closer on a vehicle. Then it stopped.

The front door flung in. "God dammnit glad you gave me keys, what the fuck's going on, huh?" The voice was vague and hurried, brusque and overheated with masculinity. Rex. "Sitting there, not letting me-"

Rex had to inhale after barking at Shane, and got half a lungful before he gasped. He immediately turned and bucked down in half to vomit on the floor, then clutched his arm up over his nostrils. "What the _FUCK_ Shane, what the FUCK is that, what the fuck is that, it's fucking, it's death! What the fuck is dead in here!" The wolfdog completely lost his cool, slobber hanging off his lower jaw in wet, urgent strands as he shrieked and howled.

Shane climbed up off the sofa and came over to hold the dog by the upper back. Rex bucked him away. "No, come on, I'll show you."

"The fuck is goin' on, I was just coming over to, oh shit, I don't even remember now, I'm kinda trashed on somethin', don't get into fuckin' pills, pup. Don't do it," Rex groaned, as he staggered up the stairs.

Rex stomped into the bedroom and swung forward, then backwards, toppling back against the door. "Holy fuck."

"He started doing it to himself, gassing himself, while I was tied up. But I got out. And I tied him up instead." Shane said this to Rex with his ears especially flopped over, slouched a little, clutched up on himself. Standing up, the dog realized that he smelled like he hadn't bathed. It was partly tangy and sexual, but also swampy and sour.

The wolfdog straightened up, looked like he was about to sneeze, gurgled in his throat, then choked it back down. He slipped his cell phone out and, sweating profusely around his muzzle, made a calm phone call.

"Hey. It's that time of the month. Yeah, I know what that means. I made it the fuck up, of course I - look, I need a hand. I need a messy recovery. No, no, no, no, I mean it no, it wasn't me! You know Kyros? You know where he lives? Yeah. Come over. Yeah fine, half an hour." Then he put his phone back and walked right out of the room.

Half an hour, Shane thought. Someone was coming in half an hour. "Rex? Rex, who's coming over?"

Rex was now in the small upstairs bathroom, doing something out of sight. There was no hot splash of urine, but a faint rustling. "You ever heard of a fixer?"

Shane crept closer to the door. He could see more of the wolfdog. Rex had shirked his jacket was doing something with his left arm, held out against the sink. Rex was still wearing a pair of black leather gloves. "Have I... like that guy from Pulp Fiction?"

Rex gurgled a kind of chuckle, like a stuttering dog growl. "Yeah. He's gonna take care of this mess. No one's gonna even know that fucking cat ever lived here."

Now Shane could see what Rex was doing. He had a long, institutional tourniquet rubber band, like a phlebotomist would use. He coiled it around his arm and then put the end in his muzzle. "But he, his company.."

"Look, pup," Rex said, voice garbled by biting on the rubber band. "God, the smell. You know, it's kinda going away," Rex said, suddenly losing his train of thought as he tried to do something manual. He made a fist with his garroted left arm, then brought a hypodermic needle over with the other and injected himself with something. "But look, I don't give a shit what's going on, really, now," the wolfdog said, face going wide-eyed but slack. "He's good, he'll, take care of shit," Rex groaned, and sat back, slumped on the toilet, eyes almost closing for a brief head-nod.

Shane's heart started to pound, and then the dog's cock started to throb underneath his stained spandex. He stepped into the bathroom and gently took the dog's gloved hand, prompting a reflesive squeeze. Then he slid the syringe out, getting only the vaguest acknowledgement from the roaringly high canine. "I think you need to sit somewhere more comfortable." Shane formulated an instant plan.

It really didn't matter that Kyros was dead. Or, for that matter, that Shane had let him die. Or had killed him out of neglicence. Or had killed the tiger out of sheer, lustful intent. The lust was the important part, and it was still there.

"Mmmufhhuh, you gawnblowme?" Rex slobbered, slowly staggering up to his feet as Shane helped him leave the bathroom and head for what used to be Shane's bedroom. It was now stripped of paint and flooring. "Howcauhn its all fucked in harh?" The hybrid said, coming down off the absolute peak of the synthetic opiate-aphrodisiac he'd just injected himself with.

"Here, I'll be back," Shane said, and had the wolfdog go lean against one of the walls. The dalmatian left and changed his messy clothes for something a little more racy. A full rubber bodysuit, black latex that was just thick enough to be sturdy. His cock and balls sprouted out of a 'cockring' in the front, straining hard and slimed with leftover precum from the past... days? Shane thought for a moment, as he looked in the mirror. He was changing in That Room. Someone was coming over, too. The dog put his boots and leather jacket back on, slipped his leather riding gloves over the rubber, and executed his plan.

Shane took a look through the piles and closets of play gear that he and The Tiger had accumulated. Leather locking ankle spreader, with cuffs wide enough to accommodate booted and pantsed legs. Leather arm binder, two heavy sheaths next to each other with locking buckles and a strap that could do any number of things as it wrapped around and buckled back. A rubber-coated metal bit gag, also with a lockable head harness. A muzzle gag, designed to be worn with the bit gag. A black plastic bag. A bottle of poppers. A spray can of ethyl chloride.

He set them all bundled together on top of a wood bondage chair tucked in the back of the enormous walk-in closet, then brought it out and into his old room.

Rex did not seem to notice what was on the chair. He just perked up as the dog came in, waited for Shane to clear it off, and sat down with a huff. He spread his booted legs apart, leather jeans bulging in front as the stiff drug kicked in as his euphoria petered out to a glow. "Mmmfh, you did it in here, an-he cleahnhned it auuh," Rex groaned, tongue still slurring around in his mouth. He licked his chops, then perked up a bit more when the dog produced the arm binder. "Oooh. That's gonna be fuckin' fun," he said, pacing the words out.

"Mmm-hmm. You'll come so hard in my face," Shane said, stroking the wolfdog's leather-clad arms. He tested to see what happened if he pulled them back. Rex just leaned forward and grunted, trying to help out. "Wow. You're really hard."

"Fuckin' shit nails you to the wall," Rex said. "And fuck, that X is crazy with it."

Shane smiled and nodded. Not being an expert in drugs, he assumed X was whatever Rex had done before coming over. He affixed Rex's arms into the binder sheaths, then locked the buckles up each side. Instead of strapping the wolfdog's bound arms to his own body, the dalmatian tied them to the back rungs of the chair. He went for Rex's booted feet next, buckling the spreader's cuffs to each ankle, with the spreader back behind the middle rung of the chair. That way, even if Rex tipped over, he wouldn't be able to get away from the chair.

"Oh man, this is kind of fucked up," Rex said, only now realizing that he was being bound up. "Goddammnit, take my dick out already. I don't wanna blow in my pants again. I already fucking did it once today."

"You have no idea how fucked up this is," Shane smiled, and picked up the muzzle. He took the bit gag and showed how the two interoperated, interlocked.

Rex stared, eyes wide, black pools.

Shane took the muzzle and fitted it over Rex's head. It was easier than he thought - the wolfdog seemed intent on keeping his muzzle shut. The bitgag was harder to push in, because Rex was really keeping his muzzle shut.

"Urrh, ehh gahvsh meh lahcuh-jaw," Rex grunted, immediately starting to slobber as he tried to talk around a gag and into a leather muzzle.

"Mmm-hmm," Shane said, then left for the bathroom. He came back with two squares of toilet paper and set them on the floor. Then he unzipped Rex's leathers and took the hybrid's cock out. Tapered human glans, foreskin, veins, and that Knot Lite for locking in, all stone hard and straining, precum drizzling from the pisshole. "Wait, one minute," Shane said, and scurried off again.

"Oh man, I'm so fucking _hard!_", Rex tried to yell after the spotted dog, but the words came out as a single modulated sound.

Shane found a latex cock and ball sheath in the play closet, and put it on. The end result was worth it, especially once tucked into the cockring hole of his body suit, but stretching it over his balls made him literally cry for a few moments from the side-crushed-testicle pain. Then it was all better.

He went back to his old bedroom and picked up the squares of toilet paper, then folded them into a wad the size of a penny. He took the bottle of poppers, opened it and capped the top with the paper wad, then inverted the bottle. "I'm really glad you're so fucked up, Rex," Shane said, then set the bottle aside. He tossed it into the plastic bag he'd brought, then went to stand behind the wolfdog.

"Waaahh waay way way," Rex muffled, then reared his back against the chair and tried to stare at the ceiling. The muzzle Shane chose had a leather collar that it hooked to, and that strangled Rex, making the hybrid tip his face right down into the open plastic bag. Shane closed it around the hybrid's muzzle.

"I'm really glad you're so fucked up, because no one else I've ever met would ever, ever, ever let themselves get into this situation. Not even Kyros."

Rex inhaled and sucked the bag up to his face, then coughed as the concentrated nitrite fumes burned his nose. "HURRH!"

Shane squirmed in his boots, cock sheath like an ink black condom, straining with the erection inside it. Rex was seriously strong, but when bound and intoxicated, his worst thrashings were easily managed by someone as slight as Shane. The wolfdog's terror breakthrough died back as soon as the poppers hit him, prompting him to grunt and thrust his hips into the air, cock flapping around. A few times, he sounded like he was begging Shane to fuck him, then devolved into simple animal grunts and snorts. Then, as he started to run out of air, he began to howl and bark into the plastic bag.

The dalmatian let go, and Rex howled and let his head slump forward, drool hanging out of the muzzle. Shane then came around front and started to jerk the wolfdog off, glove leather wet with precum and filling the bare room with the wet sounds of leather on flesh. "So, your friend is coming over, to take care of the mess I made? That means you're a liability. Right? I did something bad, and you know about it, and now this guy does, but he sounds like he does this kind of thing all the time. Right?"

Rex, about to pop, simply groaned.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. I mean, you. And I really like you. You're the best wolf I've ever seen, and you're not even a whole wolf." Shane let go and Rex's cock twitched, but didn't quite start to fire off.

The dalmatian rushed into the bathroom and came back with a hand towel. He dropped it into the plastic bag and then sprayed it with ethyl chloride.

"Shaaaaaaane, whaaafuuhh," Rex groaned, shaking and wet-faced from the poppers afterglow, eyes locked on what the dog was doing.

Shane went behind Rex again and dropped the bag over Rex's entire head, then clutched it around the dog's neck.

"SHAANE! FUUHHING DAAAHH! LEMMAH AAUUHH!" Rex screamed, inflating the bag. He tried to hold off breathing in, but it was difficult. He coughed on the cold fumes, then bucked his head left to right. With the muzzle on, he could whip his head around all he wanted but he would never be able to chew his way out. Unlike with the poppers, which led Rex to an escalating sexual peak, the ethyl chloride turned his huffing and begging into a blur of grunts, then the wolfdog's head slumped forward.

Shane took the bag away and listened. Rex was still breathing, an even huff with a slight rattle almost like a snore. He was out cold.

The doorbell rang and the dalmatian almost jumped out of his boots. He dropped the can of ethyl chloride with a clank and ran out of the room, heart pounding so hard that by the time he reached the front door. He peered out the peephole and looked at who had shown up. Despite the summer heat outside, the visitor was wearing a pair of black leather jeans, what looked like knee-high strap-laden tanker boots, a neru collar racing jacket, and a pair of visor shades. He looked like a wolf with no fur, whose skin was made of black leather.

If only to keep the neighbors from gawking at the strange sight, Shane opened the door and stayed out of the way. The visitor walked right in. He smelled like Old Spice, a welcome change of pace from chemicals and the horrific stench that Shane kept trying to ignore.

"Well," the newcomer said, in a deep, deadpan voice, "I hope this isn't a trap. Are you a trap?" He said, shutting the door out of Shane's grip.

The dalmatian startled and almost started to cry, completely unsure of how to react and afraid of everything falling down around him. "No, no, I have a penis, look!" Shane jostled his latex-covered equipment.

The newcomer sighed. "You're lucky I used to be a cop. Anyone else would have thrown up when they walked in here. Show me where it is."

"Don't you want Rex?" Shane said. Rex. Rex. Rex. Something about Rex...

"This isn't a social call. Mess, now," the strange canine thing said, looking around the house like The Terminator.

Shane led him upstairs, to the master bedroom.

"How long?"

"How long what?" Shane said, blinking, both from confusion and from the burning putrescence that assaulted his eyes.

"How long has he been here?"

"Rex?"

The canine took his sunglasses off, exposing a pair of otherwise ordinary yellow lupine eyes. He had a short brush cut of actual head hair that was only slightly more brown than the dark chocolate of the rest of his body. "If you're responsible for this, I'm pretty amazed, because you sound like an idiot. How long has the _body_ been here?"

"Oh, a few days."

The black canine walked around the room, then took out a pair of blue nitrile gloves and pulled one over his black hand, then picked up a wood spreader bar that was leaning in the corner. He walked back over and rolled Kyros over. There was a stain in the carpet underneath him. "Do you know if there's hardwood under the carpet?"

"I don't know," Shane shrugged.

"Let's find out," the canine said, and went to the corner of the room, then pulled it back. "Jackpot. Not only is this nice hardwood, but whoever carpeted it did it wrong. See this? This is vapor barrier. You put this down under laminate flooring when it's on concrete. It's plastic sheet."

"Are you a contractor or something? I mean like, for houses?"

"No, I'm just smart. Who are you?"

"Shane. I live here."

"Name's Laryan. That's my last name. You don't need my first name. Go open the garage."

At that moment, a loud cough reverberated from down the hallway, and then a loud HURRHHH! Laryan quirked an eyebrow and looked out of the room.

"Uh," Shane said, mouth turning into cotton.

"Rex called me, so I assume he's around here. Can I also assume he just screamed?"

"Sure, yeah," Shane said, and backed up against the wall. Laryan didn't try to strike him. Instead, the canine just walked out and down the hall. Shane scurried after.

Inside Shane's old room, Rex was sitting in the chair, bound, face wet, drool leaving a huge stream down his leather jacket and all over his sagging dick.

Laryan took out a pair of handheld bolt cutters and snipped the muzzle padlocks off. Rex immediately started talking.

"Whereamiwhereamiwherethefuckamiholyfuckingshiiiiiiiiiiiit what fucking day is it," he said, then inhaled. He instantly vomited hard enough to hit the wall five feet away; both Shane and Laryan barely got out of the way. "What fucking happened, what fucking happened, what'd you do to me! What'd you fucking do to me!"

"Settle down, boxer, you're just tied to a chair. Unless there's more to the story?" Laryan said, turning his head to stare down his muzzle at Shane.

The dalmatian ignored the question. "What _are_ you anyway? You don't have any f-"

Laryan grabbed him in the face with his blue-gloved hand. "Did you do anything to Rex besides tie him up?"

"Uh he was on some kind of drug when he came over and then he shot himself up with this stuff, I don't know what it was, I thought it was heroin because it made his eyes get all pinpoint but then they went back to being huge and he got a hardon. And he was horny so I tied him up, and I, I kind of gassed him a bit because I was going to try to convince him to listen to me but then you showed up early."

"Sounds like Crystal, and maybe some ecstasy. That right, puppy?" Laryan gave Rex a pat to the shoulder.

"Uh-huh, man I had to do somethin', smells like death in here!"

"That's because someone killed a tiger in the next room. Which one of you was it?"

"Him! Him! He did it! He was gonna kill me, too! He's lying about playing with my dick and that stuff! He was gonna kill me just like he killed fucking Kyros!" Rex squeaked, then coughed. Both canines stepped out of the way again, but it was just a regular cough.

"Rule number one: No more killing while I'm over. You can wait until later. Rule number two: either one of you yells or screams again, and I'm going to punch your larynx out of your neck. Rule number three: do exactly what I tell you. You, spots, open the garage. You, Rex, just sit there and stay quiet."

"Man, I gotta take a leak," Rex groaned.

"Okay, get a bucket after you've gone in the garage."

Shane hurried downstairs and did as directed. Laryan disappeared, and Rex relieved himself into the bucket without even being asked, simply letting go as the dalmatian came into the room. Shane barely caught it all.

The next two hours were a fantastic blur. Laryan might have been a strange, furless unknown, but he was a seriously professional furless unknown. He had some kind of amazing body bag in his nondescript Toyota truck which completely encompassed Kyros in his pantherine bulk. His destination: "An incinerator. A private one."

Thanks to the improperly done carpeting, none of the mess got down into the actual subfloor. They rolled the carpet up in sections and took it down to the garage, to go along with the former tiger.

"So, uh, why don't you have any fur?" Shane finally asked. "I-I know you said not to talk but I really can't-"

"I'm a Shenaus. Southwest Territories, Emerald arcology, former Security Force vice squad."

Shane looked at Laryan with his head cocked. "Shenaus?"

"We're genetically engineered police wolves. Okay, are you going to redo this room? That other one's all bare."

"I hung myself in there and I guess Kyros wanted to refinish it because I ruined the closet," Shane said. Laryan stared.

"I wasn't really going to ask what was going on, because I generally don't do that. I do whatever people pay me to do. If you have a good reason, you'll have my business. I just don't care what the reason is. But," Laryan said, holding a hand up when the dalmatian started to open his mouth again, "I just have to ask. How do you know _him_?" He pointed upstairs. "And him, for that matter," he pointed to the garage.

"I've lived with Kyros for a few years. As kind of his sl-as his pet, I guess. Or boyfriend."

"And Rex?"

"That's a funny coincidence, he just happens to know Kyros I guess."

"And you killed Kyros."

"Uh-huh. I almost got carried away with Rex, too, but I'm really glad I didn't. I kinda like him. He's really hot. I just wanted to make sure he'd listen to me."

"Let me the fuck OUT!" Rex hollered, as if he suddenly heard his voice wafting down the hall. Then, a loud WHAM! from Shane's old room. Another lesser thud, and another, then a loud snap. Laryan flinched as if it were a bone snap, but no scream followed.

The door opened a little, then flung open, and Rex burst out into the hallway. His arms were done up still, but he had a key dangling from one gloved hand.

"Impressive," Laryan said, as if this whole situation was ordinary.

"You left a fucking key in a fucking padlock! No wonder that fucking tiger was always beating on you, you're a fucking idiot!" Rex snarled, cock still sticking out of his leather pants, still hard as a rock. Then he tried to unlock his arms and that used the entirety of his attention.

Laryan walked over and stood Rex up. "I'm going to explain something. I was never here. For that matter, neither was Kyros. Unless he has planned visitors tonight, by tomorrow, he won't exist. I don't mean his body, I mean Kyros Panagakos."

"Whoa, sweet, that kinda solves-" Rex started, but Laryan grabbed his muzzle shut.

"Your little rubber-pup here says that it was a coincidence that he met you. Well, it's a coincidence that you hired me to fix your problems. Someone else hired me to solve their problem, and that solution is now vacuum-sealed in a bag in the back of my truck, still wearing all that crazy shit this guy put on him," Laryan said, and thumbed over to Shane. "Wait a minute, you," the furless wolf said to Shane. "You worked for the company that Kyros's just bought, right?"

Shane looked back and forth. He suddenly wondered if trying to be buddy-buddy with Laryan was such a good idea, considering what the strange wolf seemed to know. "Uh. Uh. Well, yeah, but then I was fired-"

"I bet that sucked, right? What if you knew that Kyros owned the company you used to work for? What if you knew that Kyros had his current employer buy yours, just so he could get the windfall to pay off a few unsightly debts?"

Shane tried to scrounge up the emotion. It was certainly unfortunate, what had happened. It made his losing the job less of an issue. "I always figured he was too much of a nerd to do anything actually wrong. I mean, to anyone else."

"You'd be surprised. Anyway, you're pretty messed up. So is Rex here, so you two seem like a good combination. So I was asking if you were going to redo this room? If you are, you better do it fast. I'm going to put down this deodorizing stuff. Then, you'll need to paint the floor with the Kilz primer I left downstairs, and then you can do whatever you want."

"Hey, I kind of barfed over there, maybe you should clean that up, too," Rex said, and finally got himself un-padlocked. He jabbed one of the gauntlets at Laryan. The wolf ignored it.

"I don't do housekeeping. Money, now."

Rex sighed and took his wallet out, then counted out an alarming amount of cash. "Here."

"You're pretty lucky. You're lucky you're alive, and you're also lucky you have this dog around, even if he's the one who almost killed you," Laryan said, pocketing the money. "I think he's good news for a fuckup like you."

"Thanks," Rex said, and sounded as if he hadn't just been insulted.

"Nice outfit, by the way," Laryan said, and then left the house. Rex and Shane stared into the master bedroom. It smelled like disgusting disinfectant, but no longer like putrescence. There was no sign of anything, save for the furniture all being shoved into the walk-in closet and the floor stripped bare and wet. Certainly no direct indication of a struggle.

Shane felt suddenly calm. The room seemed inviting, empty, devoid of problems.

"I gotta fuckin' sleep," Rex grunted, then wobbled downstairs. "Clean my fucking barf up, because you're a fucking _asshole_," he snarled at Shane, sounding as threatening as a drunk who would pass out before punching.

Shane smiled after the wolfdog.

---

The dalmatian enjoyed two straight weeks of near platitude. He spent some time thinking about what sort of work-at-home job he could take, played video games, masturbated, and then Rex would come over. The wolfdog showed up without warning at random hours of the day, sometimes clearly on another planet, and always looking to pound a load into poor Shane.

Poor Shane, indeed. He was one for one with Rex in terms of ejaculations.

The two weeks ended when someone woke him up in the middle of the night.

"Mmm, Rex, what's going on?" Shane groaned, opening his eyes to see Rex hovering over him. He wasn't alone. There was a huge Tsavo lion, maneless but also a Mr. Universe-level bodybuilder. He had a black leather blazer, black jeans, dress shoes, and a lot of jewelry.

Rex answered by flipping Shane over onto his front.

The dog scrambled around against the sheets, and immediately tried to roll back over. Rex smacked him down again.

"What's happening? What're you doing? Who's the lion guy?" Shane mumbled, jaw clenching up, heart starting to race.

The lion guy didn't say anything, and just opened his fly. Just like Kyros, his species' puny genitals were not present, replaced instead by an uncut, beer-bottle-fat human job. The lion then pointed to the nightstand.

Rex picked up a bottle of lube and handed it to the lion.

"Hey, hey, hey seriously what the hell's going on? Come on, tell me? Is this just like, you picked some guy up at the bar?"

Rex looked over at the lion, then down at the feline's cock as its owner polished it up with silicone lube. Then he turned back and backhanded Shane in the face. "Shut up for once, you talk about all kinds of shit and I don't care right the fuck now."

While Shane rang with the stun of being smacked, Rex dragged him to the edge of the bed.

This was not Rex bringing someone home from whatever he did at night. This was not just fun. The lion flipped Shane's whiptail out of the way, then stuffed his cock right in. Shane didn't even have time to hunch up doggy-style.

It didn't matter how much Shane got fucked; he wasn't expecting it, did not want it, and so it hurt. He screamed out and Rex just cuffed him in the jaw again. He flailed his arms and the wolfdog sprang onto the bed, then tried to sit on them. "Quit fucking moving!"

The lion wasn't violent about fucking, just inconsiderate. He thrusted like Shane's asshole was a fleshlight, hard and fast, big hands clutching the dog's hips.

"Stop! Fucking stop! Fucking stop it burns it's fucking hurting me stop STOP STOP STOP!" Shane screamed, and Rex punched him again. The dog shriek-yelped and Rex clutched onto his muzzle with both hands, crouched unevenly as he tried to stomp on the dog's shoulder blade to immobilize him. Tears streamed out of Shane's eyes and over Rex's gloved hands. Then, due to how Rex was trying to restrain him, the dalmatian tried to breathe deep and couldn't. He struggled harder.

The lion never said a word, only pistoning in and out like a machine. He sometimes pulled back enough that every single thrust powered his slippery cock in and out of Shane's asshole, filling the room with a wet squelch and the rank musk of anal sex.

Rex finally grew tired of holding Shane and let go, grunting and flexing his own hands, then adjusting himself as he crouched next to the dalmatian. Shane gasped for air and grew woozy, then came back down into his wet sobs.

The dog covered his face, both hands clutching over top of his muzzle, then over his eyes, face buried in the salty-wet sheets. As the lion plowed him, a consistent burn lit up one side of his asshole, but at the same time, the rough violation spurred him on.

The lion ground to a halt deep inside and let out a single clenched-jaw roar, then pulled back. Shane's tortured hole spasmed and squirted out a quarter-cup of spunk onto the sheets.

"You said he gets fucked all the time," the lion said, voice sweltering with a New York Italian accent. "Look at that. Looks like I broke him."

Shane felt like he was about to ejaculate helplessly, guts spasming from the pain of being raped and squeezing on his prostate.

"Haha, what a mess. He's fine, that's just a little bit," Rex said, and then both left the room.

They didn't go far, apparently talking out in the hallway. Shane tried to keep himself silent, unable to stop the gasping shudder that came from truly sobbing for a few moments.

"So, you still in? You didn't fucking break him, he's just kind of weird. Like messed up. But the good kind," Rex said, and there was a click of some kind of lighter, a faint huff, and then a massive cough. "You?"

"No thanks, I just came," the lion said. "I see how he's a fuck-toy, mutt. I don't see how he's... useful."

"You know Kyros?"

"Panagakos? That shithead still around? I thought I took care of that."

"Haha! Fuck that, you paid this guy to do it, right? Well, I paid him to clean up another mess. My little spotty pup took care of Kyros. It was nasty, too. Real nasty. He probably fucking drowned. In himself."

The lion grunted. "You're shitting me. That little cock sock? He fucking cried when I stuck him."

Shane listened to the conversation. The impulse to sob was now completely gone, leaving only the gasps in its place. He reached back and fingered himself. There was only a little trace of blood, probably just a tiny fissure. He'd had them many times before.

"Trust me, fucking trust me."

"How can I trust you, Rex? You're fucking blasted. You're stoned off your ass now, and who knows what you did before I came over. Do you even know what you did?"

"I dunno, there was some coke, and then I dunno, I kinda blacked out a bit."

"Fucking coke doesn't make you black out."

"It was fucking powder, and I snorted it, and I was like fucking God and then I was hunkered on the floor sweating. So what was it? Who fucking cares."

"I fucking care. I don't need another little bitch to fuck when I get horny. I need someone who can take care of business for me, and that's not some ex-con who does snuff porn and his little sobbing bitch!"

"Come on, give me a fucking chance, I'll fucking prove it. I swear."

"You'll prove it?" The lion growled. "I'll be back tomorrow night. If you fuck up, you're gonna be paying real, real hard."

"Fine, whatever," Rex said, and then two pairs of heels clomped downstairs. Then, a door slam. Boots came back up.

Rex came into the bedroom and leaned in the doorway. Shane reached over and switched on the night stand lamp. Rex's eyes were bloodshot and drooping, and the wolfdog stank of skunky marijuana. "Did you have to fucking cry?"

Shane shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Look at that, you made a fucking mess. Lick it up or something," Rex said, motioning to the pink-tinged pearly mess on the sheets.

Shane turned around, nuzzled at it, frowned, and then licked. "I'll.. I'll do whatever that lion guy wants. Right? Like you're getting work from him?"

"Fuck yeah, you're getting work. I gotta do something with you. I don't.. want that shit you pulled on me, a while ago."

Shane smiled, as he licked up coppery, ass-musky lion spunk. "Good dog."

"Fuck that, calling me a good dog."

"But you _are_," Shane whined. "You're the best dog."

Rex was half dog, and so half-wagged his tail at the fawning compliment.

---

Tomorrow became today, and Shane spent the day with a terrible case of anxiety. He started whining so much that Rex punched him in the balls, and when that didn't quit it, the wolfdog grunted and just left the house.

Alone, Shane didn't know what to do. He went into the bathtub and pissed all over himself, then rolled around in it. The humiliation left him a little thrilled, but soon the heart-pounding dread came back. The lion. The lion had looked terribly mean before he'd started fucking Shane; his voice sounded almost comical, but there was still the impending 'test' that Shane was going to have to pass. And he knew what it was for, but he didn't know for sure. They hadn't actually said. But what else could it be?

Shane started going through his gear. Rubber? No, that was kind of delicate. The spandex suit? He slid into the musky, black material. He hadn't washed it since Kyros, and it smelled like dog piss and semen and body odor. He slid on the leather shorts, then his flashy boots, then jacket and gloves.

He went down to the basement, and slinked up against one of the floor jacks that helped keep the first floor from curving down and ruining the hardwood. He wrapped around it, putting on the dejected look he'd mastered years and years earlier. He stroked up the pole as if he were nestled against an enormous cock.

I'm never gonna dance again, he mumbled, and it was so true.

The lyrics to the song floated through his head. Shane looked up; the electrical cord was back up on the shelf, coiled and orange.

These guilty feet have got no rhythm...

Shane imagined how he felt standing in the closet, hands shackled behind his back, neck already constricted with the noose.

The noose hung over the edge of the storage shelf. Kyros hadn't un-done it.

Kyros. Shane thought about the tiger, and remembered all the nights of confusion and terror, when the tiger woudl almost act like he cared about Shane, and then hurt him. Shane had only gotten upset because he was confused, unable to tell what Kyros really meant. Now, of course, he would never know what the tiger really meant.

There's no comfort in the truth, pain is all you'll find -

Shane looked back to the noose. His heart pounded again. The test.

He was going to pass.

---

The evening happened just as fast as the sudden rape the previous night. One minute, Shane was alone in the house, sniffing at slightly disinfected air and the leftover leathery smells of Rex's earlier visit to get a blowjob.

The next minute, there were five people over. Rex, the maneless lion, two other generic black dogs in what looked like mechanic uniforms, and a positively terrified cheetah.

"I don't, what's, Huh?" Shane said, as the group burst in through the garage entryway.

"Shut up and get out of the way," one of the black dogs said. The cheetah chirped like a bird, mewled, and stuttered an endless series of near complaints. He looked ill, shaking and muzzle-sweating, and smelled faintly of vomit. "Oh no you don't," one of the dogs said, and punched the cat in the face. "Don't you fuckin' throw up again."

"Everyone throws up so much," Shane quipped, and then the other dog went after him. He wasn't as fast as Shane, and punched a hole into the drywall. The other one quickly restrained him.

"Where the fuck you want him?" The first dog asked.

Rex shrugged. "I dunno. The basement, I guess."

Both dogs and the terrified cat disappeared down the stairs.

"Who's.. who's that guy?" Shane asked, to both the wolfdog and lion.

"None of your fucking business," the lion said.

"He looks sick..." Shane said, cowering.

"What the fuck kind of outfit is that? You look like a gay stripper. And yeah, he's sick. He's got the shakes. Kept him off the junk to see if I could get anything outta him. Naw, not so much. So, he's worthless now, and I gotta make him disappear. You know anything about that, puppy? You know how that works?"

"Disappear..." I look like a stripper? Shane felt tickled that someone noticed. Even if it was the tsavo lion. "Oh, yeah, like Kyros."

"Heeeyy, good boy, want a fucking biscuit for that?" Rex said. Shane put his gloved hands up and dropped his fingers, then opened his muzzle. Rex looked confused, then cleared his throat and spit in Shane's mouth. The dalmatian swallowed.

The lion seemed a bit put off. "Whatever. He's downstairs now. Take care of him."

Shane went downstairs and found the two dogs trying to muscle the cheetah into a chair. The chair's counterpart had been shattered by Rex two weeks earlier.

"No, no, don't do that. Duct tape his arms behind his back. And his feet together. Stand him up," Shane said.

"Huh? What? What the fuck are you gonna do to me? Come on, man, I didn't do anything. I'm just a fucking junkie, okay? And you guys push that shit, so what am I gonna do?" The cheetah tried to explain his predicament. Shane had no idea what he was talking about.

"Where's the tape?" One of the dogs asked, literally standing next to it. The other one punched him and grabbed it. The two started to muscle the cheetah around again, to his feet, and then taped the cheetah up. Duct tape around the wrists, duct tape around the ankles. The feline seemed unable to fight back enough.

"Don't worry," Shane said. "I think I can find you another hit."

"Are you fucking kidding? Are you fucking kidding? Oh man, oh man..."

Shane then went upstairs. "Rex, lion guy, I need something. He's a heroin junkie, right? Well, I want to shoot him up."

"What the fuck's the point of that?"

Shane cocked his head. "Well, he'll feel good, and then... he won't. Right now, he's just upset."

"Is this necessary?" The lion grunted.

Rex, on the other hand, opened his jacket and took out a big metal cigar case. Inside, he had a vial of heroin powder, a few syringes. He went over and started getting it ready. "You're a nasty fuckin' pup. You know that? But you're fucking _creative_."

Shane looked around the room. The cassette boom box he'd used when he was strangling himself one night, was sitting innocently on a chair in the dining room. Rex had been using it while cleaning up after an attempt at cooking, which nearly burnt the kitchen down. Shane looked in one of the double cassette slots, and found the tape he was looking for. He mashed play and fast-forward, and squirrel talk blasted out. Then, he backed it up, and hit play again. A saxophone blasted out.

"Hey, hey, this is that song that band fucking covered, uh, I dunno, that rock band," Rex said, as he cooked up a syringe-ful.

"Don't use too much. I don't want to kill him with it."

"What's the point, then?" The lion said. He seemed slightly dopey.

"I already told you, it's... nevermind, obviously there's a reason you're all using me for this, right? Because you're a bunch of chickenshits or something?" Shane put his hand on his hip and cocked it out. Instead of attacking him, the lion simply stood and gave him a strange sneer. Shane stopped the tape and took the player downstairs. Rex came soon after.

The dogs had done a good job tying the cheetah up, one of them holding him standing while the other just checked his phone.

Shane set the player down, then whispered something in the dog's ear. The cheetah was facing him, and facing away from the storage cabinet, unable to see the dangling noose. The dog went over and took the coiled electrical cord down, then stood on an old end table and knotted it around up to the rafters.

"Oh man, oh man, oh FUCK YEAH," the cheetah hissed, as Rex stepped up and handed the syringe to Shane.

"I figured you could use a little help," Shane said, and petted the cheetah's chest. He grabbed at the cat's stained teeshirt cuff and twisted it hard on his upper bicep. Then, not having ever injected anyone with anything, stabbed the needle into the most obvious vein under the fur, right in the middle of a rosette.

"Oww FUCK!" the cat hissed, and Shane pushed the plunger down. "Oww oww fucking shit you don't fucking know anything you son of a-" The cheetah kept hissing and spitting, and then his pupils shrank.

Shane pulled the needle out and stepped back. The cheetah's head nodded forward, then he lifted it, then nodded, lifted, nodded, lifted. He groaned and a stupid smile plastered over his face.

"Isn't that better?" The dalmatian said, and gently went over to kiss the cheetah.

"Fuck man, I ain't no faggot," the cat murmurred, but nuzzled back anyway.

"That's okay. I'm not actually nice," Shane said. "Stand him up on the chair."

The two thug dogs picked the slender cat up and stood him on the same chair he'd been sitting on. He wobbled a little, then suddenly realized his arms were restrained. "Hey, hey why am I fucking taped up, what the fuck, what's going on? What the fuck, I told you, I don't know shit, I don't have shit, I don't, I don't even know what I'm doing here, I don't, what's happening? What's..." His eyes went wide, pupils still narrow.

Shane went over to the tape player and started it. The mournful saxophone melody from, "Careless Whisper", filled the room. One of the thug dogs opened his mouth to say something, but the other smacked him quiet.

"What the hell is this? C'mon, come, come on, I didn't do anything. I just... I just can't kick it, you know? I can't stop. I can't stop and I just kind of... I needed money. And I, and I'm sorry, I didn't wanna cause family trouble, I didn't want to fuck with the mob, it's not my fault they run all the fucking drugs around here! Jesus christ!"

The song moved to the verse, the breezy sadness of a jilted relationship, profoundly foppish and mired in a forgotten time of British synth-pop. Shane huffed and stood with his hips cocked. The two hench-dogs stared at him. "You're complaining to the wrong person. I'm guessing that lion up there is pretty important, because he seems to run everything around here. Well, he didn't like whatever you had to say. So now, you're my business. And I don't care about what you have to say, either," Shane said, squeezing his brain for something that sounded suitably tough. It was hard; he wasn't used to being tough. But this was now organized crime, and organized crime was tough.

The cat looked increasingly nervous, tail curling around his leg like a very lazy snake as his sense of fear fought with the chemical sandblast provided by strong opiates. He wobbled almost like he was going to fall off the chair, and swung his face right into the dangling noose. "What the hell's this! You're gonna fucking hang me! You're gonna fucking hang me!" He stiffened up like a board. The thugs looked towards Shane, and the dalmatian nodded back. One of the dogs held onto the increasingly flailing cheetah, while the other helped get the noose situated properly under his neck, electrical cord dangling just loose enough. "That wasn't fucking heroin. What the fuck was it? What the fuck is happening?" Among other things, the cheetah's eyes were now returning to their normal pupilar size, and there was a sturdy lump in his jeans.

"Fucking Rex," Shane hissed. "You like it? You like being all stone hard like that?"

"Fuck it's not the right shit, I'm..." the cheetah said, and then started to look ill.

The song shifted into the chorus, and Shane stepped forward.

"I'm never gonna dance again, these guilty feet have got no rhythm.." George Michael crooned on the recording, voice as high as the cheetah probably was.

That's perfect, Shane thought. That's so perfect. He kicked the chair out from underneath the cheetah. The hapless feline lurched as the cord snapped tight, feet still almost a foot off the floor. He gagged and gurgled, face strained up, eyes nearly bugging out as he wrenched and jerked. Shane had a slight, vivid flash of a worm descending from a tree on its little thread, squirming, undulating.

Instead of simply expiring, and perhaps spurred on by the unexpectedly laced load of drugs, the cheetah wrestled harder and harder, until his wrists finally stretched the duct tape enough that he could free them. He immediately started grappling for the hanging cord, then at the noose around his neck, fingers prying enough that he scraped fur free from his throat.

It didn't matter. Soon, the cheetah's grasping turned into aimless movements, and then his arms slumped down to his sides, tongue stuffed out one side of his jaw, eyes still wide open. A few seconds later, a wet stain spread through the cheetah's jeans and down the leg, a full bladder's worth of urine, enough fluid that the surfaced shined for a moment.

Shane came, without touching himself, hot jets firing into his spandex bodysuit, smearing up against the leather-lined shorts as he stood and flexed his hips forward. He groaned and shivered and then let out a hasty breath. The dogs were looking uneasily around the room, avoiding eye contact.

The dalmatian turned and boot-clopped over to the basement stairs. Then, he leaned in and yelled up.

"Rex, lion guy, you need to call that fixer again."